With Child
by Milliemstar2014
Summary: Sherlock discovers he has a child, however Sherlock being Sherlock, he doesn't particularly care and his life goes forward as normal, but can his life ever be normal again? Rated K for safety. Read if you love Sherlock, quirks and all!
1. Playing Games

Sherlock was confused. As a detective, the particulars of a murder were all for the deduction. What clothes they were wearing, what car they were driving, jewellery, carpet, buttons on an alarm system- were all the puzzle pieces that were in the box of a perfect murder. Rarely did people ever tell the truth, so he learned not to listen to what people would say. He sometimes forgot that the verbal element of communication held any relevance whatsoever.

Sherlock would deduce from John's shoes whether tonight or last night was John's date night, despite John telling him exactly why he bought new shoes for tomorrow night's date. He would never listen to what people had to say or understand why they were upset.

Molly would occasionally ask Sherlock out for coffee, however Sherlock often misunderstood. This frequently left Molly in a mess and always left Sherlock in confusion.

It was fair to say that Sherlock was not a people-person. It was even debated between the offices of Sergeant Sally Donovan and Anderson whether he was actually in-fact a person. Sherlock: the only mystery within a one hundred and twenty mile radius that would be left unsolved and un-treated.

It was no wonder Sherlock was, then confused at John's reaction to his news.

"What do you mean your daughter's coming to stay?"

"I meant what I said." Said the man, slowly plucking at his violin.

"Sherlock! Don't play games, not with me, not now." John struggled to remain calm, a struggle he had been practising for a long time.

Realising the shocked expression of his friend, he quickly explained:

"I have a daughter, John. Her name is Carmen, she was born on the 22nd of September 2011, and Carmen is now one year, seven months and five days old and she's coming here to stay with us for three weeks." His eyes slowly gazed up from his violin with caution.

"Nine days ago Janine sent me her birth certificate in the mail, told me I needed to 'see her'." He mimicked her tone of voice.

"I'm sorry, what? Who's the mother?"

"Her mother was Janine, seems my little plan of playing house… somewhat … backfired, a little." He stood up suddenly and flew downstairs, leaving John standing in paralyzing shock.

"Sherlock, where are you going?" he asked in disbelief as Sherlock's collar flew up over his neck. He opened the door.

"I have a case… are you coming?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Wait a minute, we need to talk about this." John closed the door and stood directly in front of Sherlock, allowing for no escape.

"What more do you want me to say, John?" He sighed, exasperated with these questions: 'What do you mean your daughter's coming to stay?' 'Who's the mother?', 'where are you going?'.

"Well, for starters where will she stay?" It was never-ending, he thought.

"I thought we'd established that she was staying with me."

"No, where will she sleep? She can't sleep on the sofa, Sherlock. One year olds need cot's or special beds."

"Fine, she can sleep in your old room."

"Fine, what will she eat?"

"Hm, tricky one, my guess is food."

"She needs three square meals a day, Sherlock, you barely eat one." Sherlock looked at his watch.

"Mrs Hudson will bake a cake and we'll all live happily ever after, John, I'm late."

"What about her safety?"

"What about her safety?"

"Sherlock, she can't come on our cases with us! Who will take care of her?"

"Of course she can come! I started at the age of four and a half, well technically if you count the time when our Neighbours lost their cat, Thimbles. I was then no older than thr-"

"-I'm not having this conversation with you! She can't come, that's final, who will take care of her?"

"Mrs Hudson? Mary? Molly? Lestrade? I don't know, you're over-thinking this."

"Am I? Alright." He nodded slowly and scoffed. John almost made his full exit

"You be a dad for three weeks! Have fun. Just…" He paused at the open door

"Call me if you need anything."

"John! What about our case."

"Thimbles the cat, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyebrows creased in confusion "What?"

"You can manage without me!"

John shouted from across the street, waved for a cab and drove away.


	2. Little Botheration

_Unbelievable! _John sat there shaking his head and breathing deeply through his nose. _That poor, poor child_ was the most reoccurring thought that flew through his head like a bullet in a metal cage. He had faith in his friend to solve crimes, and to be there for him when he or Mary needed him, but to have this kind of responsibility over a child? His head shook slowly as his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek.

There was then a sudden turn, one that immediately called John back into focus. "Uh, excuse me. Yeah, excuse me, sorry. You were meant to turn left there." The driver looked at John through the rear view mirror but didn't say anything. John sat there looking expectantly when it clicked in his head, a similar clicking to that of the locks on the car doors. "Mycroft Holmes, right?" John looked down at his crossed arms as the car finally pulled over in a darkened alleyway.

It was now dusk, and as winter drew closer, the darkness that London thrived in consumed the city, making the isolated alleys more threatening. The perfect backdrop for what was needed.

There was that click again before the driver, expressionless, opened his door for him.

"Hello, John." Said a posh voice from within the shadows. John rolled his eyes, this was the most dramatic family he had ever encountered in his entire British up-bringing, he was always expecting that nine-beat drum that you hear on Eastenders at the end of every sentence spoken.

_"Not dead" 'boom, boom, boom, boom, badubaduba'_

_"My daughter's coming to stay" 'boom, boom, boom, boom, badubaduba'_

_"Hello, John." 'boom, boom, boom, boom, badubaduba'_

"Forgot the cape?"

"How goes the news with you?" Mycroft ignored John, who was now miming a Dracula's teeth with his two index fingers.

"And the fangs."

Mycroft sighed

"Mycroft, you have my number. Sherlock knows we have these meetings, just call me!"

"Its more fun this way." He said twirling his stick on the muddy pavement with a wry smile.

"Well, I've got some news for you, this time." John wasn't sure if he was betraying Sherlock by telling Mycroft, only, he was ought to know soon, so he figured there was no harm in telling him. He also remembered that Sherlock was as bothered about the news as he was about his clients' feelings.

"Oh?"

"Sherlock has a daughter." John said slowly. There was a long pause, while Mycroft stared into the distance, again, probably for dramatic effect, however John excused it considering the circumstances

"I know." Mycroft smiled a cold smile.

"Of course you do."

An urgent look spread across Mycroft's face "Have you told him?"

"What? No."

"Good, he mustn't know."

"No, _I_ didn't tell him, he found out."

"He knows? Who told him?" asked Mycroft

"Janine."

"Oh, wasn't a fifty-thousand pound bribe good enough, then?" He looked angry and raised his voice, before immediately composing himself to a sarcastic smile.

"Evidently not."

"Mm, evidently."

The older man rubbed his head "Anyhow, she can't see Sherlock."

"Why not?"

"It is dangerous territory for a one year old."

"Its not that bad."

"John, over the past three years, Sherlock has faked his death, been captured and tortured in two different countries, you've had four brutal killers visit your house, a group of men, one of which, responsible for the injuries of your land lady, then was accidently thrown out your window multiple times, I do recall. You've also been surrounded by expert assassins and the apartment was blown up due to a planned 'gas leak'. Not to mention the various body parts found within the fridge and last, but not least the 'drug bust'. His apartment is possibly the most dangerous home in London, hardly a place for a child, don't you think?"

John stumbled "Perhaps, not when you put it like that, no, I suppose not."

"Anyhow, I shall visit Janine and see if we can't sort this little botheration between us, till next time John." He pointed his walking stick up towards the sky and bowed his head as a sort of salute and walked away.


	3. Futile Emotions

Sherlock was bored, again. It had been a week since he was bored, the dullest and most futile emotion, and yet people seemed to do nothing else but be bored, or simply just boring he thought. Just filling up their boring little heads with boring little facts that were, essentially, useless to their boring little lives.

This was exactly the sort of hell he grew up with. Christmas, Sunday roast, wages and pension, shopping lists and television, it never ended, the amount of rubbish people occupied their brains with, or at least the ten percent that was fully functional.

He had dispensed with the habits of shooting at walls, dissecting the brain, reading the reviews on John's blog. All were barren in the 'amusement' factor that Sherlock was looking for.

He creased his brow and closed his eyes tight. 'They'll be here soon… Oh, god.' He was not nervous, more disconcerted by their arriving. He knew she would. He knew Janine well enough to know that any bribe from Microft wouldn't be effective, but appreciated, never the less.

He also knew Microft well enough to make that assumption of a bribe-'if he knew, which he would, his feeble heart would crush for the child, and for me' he smirked at the patronising imitation of his brother, among other voices this one was herd and focused on alone.

His eyes stayed closed, and focused on the one voice. It was tranquil, before the voice became two, "What do you mean your daughter's coming to stay?" "You need to see her, Sherlock, you need to." "Can I run something past you?" "Her name's Carmen" "Looking at a house in Derby" "You be a dad for three weeks! Have fun!" More and more the voices over-lapped. "I'm dealing with a child." "Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?" "We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope." "She needs me around, now" "Maybe don't do the smiling… Kidnapped children?" "Did you miss me?"

His eyes opened wide at the sound of the doorbell.

"I suppose I'll get that then, Sherlock" John shouted from the kitchen.

"How long have you been here?"

"Two… hours, Sherlock. I've been talking to you for two hours."

"Talking at me for two hours, sorry I was" Sherlock paused before rapidly mumbling "preoccupied"

John skipped down the stairs in his signature rhythm that Sherlock was so used to.

He didn't need to hear Janine's voice to know it was her and her spawn. Well, his spawn. He sat up straight and listened to her, then he herd a small, squeaky voice. This was the most captivated Sherlock had ever been in a conversation, he didn't allow himself to be captivated, however. He had always seen caring as a disadvantage or more of the rubbish that people filled their minds with.

His fingers slowly grasped his violin, curling over the neck, whilst half- listening. Sherlock then quickly pulled it to his shoulder and began playing with his bow.

"That's lovely, Sherl." Said a familiar voice from behind him. He finished his song before turning round and placing his violin carefully on the coffee table.

His eyes scanned the child. She had brown eyes that were a little puffy, cried for the journey, therefore probably a 'whiner'. Her black, curly hair was silky and shiny and short. She looked at him with as much intensity as he looked at her, and for a second he suffered a brief lapse of concentration as he studied the girl and her clothes. Her dress was in a floral print with grass stains covering the bottom right corner. Below this was a gash that scabbed over, three quarters of an inch wide and approximately 5 millimetres open.

Janine was speaking about… something.

"What happened?" Sherlock interrupted. Janine sighed before attempting to explain.

"Wait, don't tell me. She slipped on the mud coming into the car, after you took a day out in… Derby."

"Sherlock! This isn't one of your cases, this is your child."

Sherlock pressed his hands together to his lips and rested his arms on his knees.

"I'm not good at children." He admitted quietly, the first outward sign of angst he had shown yet.

"Neither is she." Janine took Carmen and placed her on her lap.

"She's like you, Sherl, you know. She loves being by herself, hates television. We got a dog in the cottage. She's obsessed with him."

Sherlock saw this the moment she walked in, of course; the hairs of a collie.

"Fergus his name is. The breed's a c-"

"Collie, yes I know." He interrupted, again. Janine smiled. "Aren't you going to offer me tea?"

"How long are you staying?"

"It depends, perhaps an hour. I've got a train at three o'clock. Why? You're not busy, are you?"

"No."

"Well, you're about to be. This one started walking at eight and a half months, ever since then, she hasn't stopped." Janine was bobbing Carmen up and down on her lap, much to Carmen's displeasure as she waved her chubby arms up and down as her eyebrows creased in deep frustration and her small mouth grew smaller in anger. It was then Sherlock realized how much she was like him.

Sherlock smirked at Carmen, to which she replied with a concentrated frown. The hour passed by slowly, the slowest hour he had ever experienced. It ended up with Janine tearing, Carmen obliviously fiddling with the tassel of the rug, Sherlock hurriedly shooing Janine out the door before returning to find John on the floor cooing Carmen. Carmen's eyebrows were going crazy, frowning and pulling apart in anguish.

"Go way." She was mumbling in childish talk.

"What _is_ she saying?"

"I believe she's saying go away"


	4. Social Protocol

"So?" John looked at the man in the leather armchair flicking through the newspaper, completely ignoring the girl, who was looking quizzically up at John.

Sherlock's answer was muffled and distracted, "What?"

"What did she say?"

"Who?"

"…Janine, Sherlock, who else? What did she say?"

"Oh, her. I wasn't listening"

John sighed. He remembered a time where he idealised this man, never admitted it before in his life except the times where he was let down by him. He had to remind himself that Sherlock wasn't just a tolerable pain in the arse sometimes, but he was not compassionate in the needed circumstances. This, unfortunately, was one of those circumstances. Just before all hope in Sherlock becoming a father was lost, he said something that surprised John.

"She doesn't like it when you do that, John."

"Really?" John looked up at him, the newspaper now folded to half the size.

He continued to ignore them both, Carmen now fixated on the picture of the big, crying woman talking to the police at the top of the newspaper. Sherlock squinted at something on the page, then folded it in half once more and placed it on the coffee table. "No… Mrs. Hudson!"

This sudden raise in volume didn't seem to faze Carmen; it was more John who was alarmed in a way that did always amuse Sherlock.

An older woman came tottering into the room, somewhat surprised by the content: a cot, a Sherlock and a baby.

Hardly the three things that one would find in apartment 221B Baker Street.

"Oh, who's this?" She brushed Carmen's chubby cheeks with her bony finger.

"My daughter." Sherlock stood up to grab his coat. Mrs Hudson giggled with amusement before she looked at the child. Her happy face soon turned into a face of shock when she then looked at Sherlock, seeing the resemblance between the two. She fumbled for the leather armchair behind her and plonked herself down when she had found it, her hand shaking over her open mouth.

"It's a long story. Yeah… I-I'll make some tea" John heard Sherlock hop downstairs.

"Mrs Hudson, watch her for an hour or two, would you?" There was silence, which Sherlock was quite willing to take for a "Yes, of course, dear" in Mrs Hudson's squeaky tone of voice.

"John? Are you coming?" He looked up the crack of the staircase to see John standing in the doorway of his apartment, not moving. He walked slowly back up the stairs, knowing the conversation he was about to have.

"No. No, I'm bloody well not, Sherlock."

"Joh-"

"-She's only been here for _five minutes_ and you're already out the door. You need to stay here and spend time with your daughter."

Sherlock's tone of voice was low and his face, agitated "Why."

"It's… Social protocol." John said confidently, when I actual fact he just pinned it on something he knew required a level of knowledge on what 'people' do.

"No it's not, you're just saying that." Sherlock mumbled quickly. His eyes peered over his shoulder to see little Carmen now on her hands and knees, getting up to walk away.


	5. Through the loop

The next few hours for Sherlock were going to be hell. He knew that she would drive him insane. John had, of course confiscated his, phone, laptop, newspaper and T.V remote. This was being forced upon him and he did not appreciate it.

"Muda" She murmured, much to John's surprise, in her childish talk,

"Yes, murder, you're keeping me from solving them." John sighed at his friend, Carmen's earnest little face looked up at Sherlock. Although John knew she would never understand what Sherlock just said to her, he was still annoyed with him for being so cruel.

"Sove muda?" or maybe she would understand. She was Sherlock's child, after all.

"It's my job" Sherlock explained, before realising who it was he was talking to.

A few minutes later Sherlock herd a knock at the door. Mary. He knew her knock, it was a distinct rhythm: two steady and quick taps, then a final 'bang'. She heard her small talk with Mrs Hudson. Rubbish, he thought. Well-being, weather, traffic and a quick explanation for why she was here were all topics covered by the two in the space of about two minutes before she came through their door, beaming at the child.

"How you two getting on, then? Father and daughter bonding?"

Sherlock was watching the girl for the past hour, watching her just pulling at the bow on her dress, then re-tying it again. This was hardly bonding.

"I'm bored." Was the only statement that Sherlock could shape in response. John sighed; he had finally given up on his friend.

"God, Sherlock, you're not even trying." John got up from his seat and walked out the room.

Sherlock looked up at Mary. "I don't understand. Why does he keep doing that?"

"He doesn't understand you, Sherlock."

"People rarely have the privilege." He mumbled behind his hand.

"Have you tried, you know, picking her up?"

"Why would I do that?"

"It's what daddy's do."

"I am not a 'daddy', Mary! I am a detective, a crime solver, a highly- functioning sociopath but there is one thing that I am not, one thing that I refuse to be is a 'daddy'."

"Daddy" Carmen gurgled. Mary's face lit up.

"That's right, sweetheart," She reached to her to pick her up, bouncing her up and down, her face close to hers, speaking in 'baby tone'.

"He is you're daddy whether he likes it or not, yes he is, yes he is."

Carmen, for the first time, giggled at Mary, who then spoiled it by mimicking trying to eat Carmen's hand which then was making Carmen very distressed and disturbed as she wave her chubby arm and looked up at Sherlock.

"Give her to me. She doesn't like it when you bounce." Mary looked intensely at Sherlock with the baby. She was a shade darker than him, probably due to her mother's dark complexion. Her eyes were a brighter blue and her hair was thick, black and in ringlets around her round face. There was no-denying she was a beautiful child, however, strange in the way that she was so easily amused, however always pensive. Yes, she was Sherlock's there was no doubt about that.

Sherlock's face stayed neutral as he spoke calmly at her anxious little face.

"There. Don't let this deranged woman upset you, Carmen." Carmen looked at Mary, then back at Sherlock before continuing to tie and untie the ribbon of her dress.

Sherlock sat with her on his lap, reading a book on DNA.

"She's so clever." John spoke from the doorway.

"No, you're doing it wrong." Sherlock's voice boomed from behind the book as he put it down, he pointed as he explained. Carmen's face was close to offended as she peered closely at Sherlock.

He smirked.

"You pull that ribbon, not the loop."

She listened and did as she was told, by pulling the string and completely un-doing the bow. She looked in shock at what she had just accomplished, then handed it to Sherlock to show her again, wiping her hands on her dress as she watched closely.

"You put that through there, tie it like so. Then to untie it efficiently, you pull the strings apart and begin with the first knot, see?"

"Stop it, Sherlock." John smiled.

"Stop what?"

"Enjoying yourself."

He was enjoying himself. Sherlock had lost. He scowled at John before returning to his book. Carmen looked above the book, hoping for Sherlock to show her another time, however, knowing that was it, she proceeded to continue on her own and turned away.


	6. Authors Note

**Authors Note:**

**To all who have read this fanfic, Hi! Just want to apologise bout a few things. This, as you can probably tell, is my first fanfic, so sorry if I get a few things wrong, sound too much like a smart arse or fail to do justice to the beautiful Sherlock! Criticism is completely welcome so please feel free to comment via comment section...(?) or e-mail. Thanks to all who have read and I really hope that you like the next chapter coming next week! x**


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